


Young Gods

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Feelings, Getting Together, M/M, National Team!AU, Post canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Oikawa touched Ushijima’s shoulder, lingering. “You wouldn’t laugh at me if I did something stupid, would you, Ushiwaka?”There was a low lurch deep in Ushijima’s gut. “Of course not.”Oikawa nodded, more to himself than Ushijima. “I’m about to do something stupid, then. Stop me, if you want.” He took another step closer, and Ushijima’s field of vision was only Oikawa.The light touch on Ushijima’s jaw grew firmer as Oikawa’s hand settled. The other one rose to match it, cupping the other side of Ushijima’s face. Oikawa’s palms were warm. So was his breath, as it fanned across Ushijima’s lips.“Anytime,” said Oikawa, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper. “Stop me anytime.”Ushijima didn’t.





	Young Gods

**Author's Note:**

> If you want some mood music, try the Halsey song of the same title. ♡

In fifteen minutes, the biggest match of Ushijima’s career would begin. He’d spent years working toward this future, months of training to get himself to peak condition, and days of constant practicing and strategizing. He had devoted so much time and effort to this single match that he expected to feel a sizzle of nerves, or rattling anxiety at the thought of stepping onto the court.

But all he felt was determination, and a single-minded need to win.

Volleyball had always been like that for Ushijima. He wanted to play to the best of his abilities, and he wanted to win, but he’d never been weighed down by the same sleep-stealing stress as his teammates. He was confident in his team and in himself. There was nothing to gain from giving into fruitless anxieties.

That didn’t seem to be a mindset that everyone shared.

Even from inside the locker room, the sounds of the stadium beyond were significant. The audience was already cheering, despite the vacancy of the court. Warm-ups had been done in separate areas, where each team could have privacy away from the crowd. It was different than the low-ranking high school matches he’d once played, and even from the university-level games a few years back. Traveling here, to this court with this crowd, with the flag of his country stamped onto his jersey, was an entirely new experience.

Ushijima would never forget this.

He folded his sweatpants neatly and placed them inside his bag. It was chilly without them layered over his shorts, but that wouldn’t last long. After the first thirty seconds on the court, everyone would be sweating.

A cluster of his teammates passed by, headed for the door, and Bokuto paused to slap Ushijima on the shoulder. “You ready for this, Ushijima? I’ve never been a world champion before! It’s gonna be great!”

“Yes,” said Ushijima. Bokuto’s grin was wide, but there was something manic about it, as if he was barely keeping it together. “I am ready.” 

Bokuto pumped a fist in the air with a loud _whoop_ and hastened to catch up with the others. 

Bokuto was excitable at the best of times, but in the face of a career-changing match like this, he would become frantic. He would balance out after a few points were scored. Ushijima hoped the team wouldn’t be too affected before then.

Nearly everyone had already cleared out of the locker room. They’d been told to convene in the hallway, so they could enter the court together. It was nearly time, and Ushijima needed to go now or risk getting left behind.

He wouldn’t be the only one.

Around the corner, past a litter of duffel bags and a pile of discarded towels, he found Oikawa sitting on a bench, alone. His head was down, his shoulders were hunched, and his hands dangled limply between his knees. At any other time, Ushijima would think Oikawa was contemplating the impending match. Ushijima had watched him a number of times, before a match or during time-outs. Oikawa was more focused than anyone Ushijima had ever met, and it was one of many things that had earned his respect.

But this time, Oikawa didn’t have the same relaxed posture as his usual meditations. He didn’t have that dreamy, distant look on his face, or the slight pinch between his brows that meant he was concentrating. Ushijima couldn’t see his face at all, but he didn’t have to. He knew from a glance that this was different.

And if that glance hadn’t been enough, the slight shaking of Oikawa’s fingers would have given it away.

“Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s shoulders stiffened, just barely. “Ushiwaka. Shouldn’t you be lining up with the others?”

“Yes,” said Ushijima. “As should you.”

Oikawa exhaled, and his posture softened. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I will wait with you.”

“You don’t have to. I think I can find my way to the door all by myself.”

“I am certain you can,” agreed Ushijima, “but I would still like to wait with you.”

He expected Oikawa to argue, but to Ushijima’s mild surprise, he stayed silent. A minute trickled by, and then two. Ushijima wondered if he should mention the time, but he didn’t want to interrupt whatever Oikawa was thinking so deeply about. 

Just when he’d nearly decided to speak anyway, Oikawa huffed a breath and stood. He pushed his hands through his hair and stepped past Ushijima. 

“Alright, let’s go,” said Oikawa. “If we’re late, coach will-”

Ushijima gripped Oikawa’s arm as he passed by, tugging him to a halt. Oikawa blinked at him, startled.

“What is wrong?” asked Ushijima.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Oikawa pulled back, and Ushijima let him go. “Nothing’s wrong, except we’re about to be late for the world championship game. That’s not exactly how I’d like to be remembered.”

“Oikawa.” 

Oikawa’s mouth pulled tight on one side in an almost-frown. He was paler than usual, and though he’d proclaimed the night before that he was going to bed early, the dark ruts beneath his eyes suggested otherwise.

“You are worried,” said Ushijima. “You think we will lose.”

“Of course we won’t lose,” snapped Oikawa. It was too harsh, too defensive. “We can’t lose. Not after everything we’ve done to get here. We’re going to win, and don’t you dare say otherwise.”

Ushijima was unbothered by the sharp tone. He knew Oikawa wasn’t angry, not really. “I know that,” he said, calmly. “I know we will win. We are the better team.”

“Damn right we are.” Oikawa pushed his hair back again. His fingers were still shaking, and something about the flicker of his eyes suggested nervousness. “We’re the best team there’s ever been. When we leave here tonight, we’ll be champions.”

“Oikawa.”

This time Ushijima didn’t have to pull him back. Oikawa scuffed to a stop, and the look he gave Ushijima was too wide, a little wild.

“We deserve to be here,” said Ushijima. “All of us, but you and I, most of all. We have fought for this. We deserve it, we are strong, and we will claim what is ours.”

Oikawa didn’t say anything. He watched Ushijima with that big-eyed stare, lips slightly parted, the edges of his jersey crumpled in a crushing grip. 

“I will be there,” said Ushijima, “to do whatever I must. You can rely on me, Oikawa. I hope that I have at least proven that while we have shared a team. If you need me, I will be there.”

Oikawa peeled his fingers away from his wrinkled jersey. He threaded them through his hair one more time, and let his hands fall away. “Okay. Yeah. I… I know, Ushiwaka. I know that.” He took a breath and turned away. His shoulders had gone stiff again. “It’s a good thing, too. I’ll need you for the entire first set, at least. We all know Bokuto will be useless at the beginning.”

He didn’t mean it as harshly as it sounded. Oikawa had never spoken badly of their teammates; at least not that Ushijima had ever heard. Ushijima sometimes wondered if Oikawa spoke badly of him when he wasn’t around, considering their contentious rivalry in high school, but somehow he doubted it.

Oikawa expelled another breath and shook out his wrists, as if trying to banish his nerves. “The first one will come to you. A quick set to the left. I’ll feign toward Bokuto, because he’ll be bouncing around so much they’ll all be watching him. You have to get the first one in, Ushiwaka. We need a strong start.”

It had taken a long time for Oikawa to trust Ushijima. It had been tough, for a while, but when they’d started working together as a team, it had been more fulfilling than any matches Ushijima had ever won. It made him feel better now, to have someone so strong standing with him. He felt powerful, capable, like winning was the only possible outcome.

“I will,” said Ushijima, and he meant it. “You can trust me.”

Oikawa nodded. His expression was settling into something familiar, edged with determination rather than barely concealed uncertainty. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Ushijima followed him out to meet their teammates, and when they stepped into the roar of the crowd and the bright lights of the stadium, he thought this was what destiny must feel like.

  
  
  
  
  


It was a long match, and the aftermath was even longer. Photographers, reporters, a swarm of fans: Ushijima had grown used to these things during his career, but that didn’t mean he’d learned to enjoy them. He wasn’t there for the attention or the fame. He was there for the game, and for his teammates. He would have preferred to play an extra set than to be hounded by reporters asking how he felt about the outcome, and what sort of training regiment he followed, and if he had plans to take up the mantle of captain the following year. 

Ushijima answered all of those questions as vaguely as possible, as was his custom. He’d learned a script of generic answers that somewhat satisfied the reporters yet allowed him to keep his business to himself. He’d known playing for the national team would mean sacrificing some of his privacy, but he wasn’t willing to throw all of it away.

Besides, he didn’t know answers to all of those questions himself. Maybe he would be the new captain, or maybe someone just as worthy would claim the title; perhaps someone who deserved it more than he did. He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.

It was a long time before they escaped the frenzy of activity to retreat to the locker room. Ushijima’s shower was badly needed, and as he redressed in the suit he would wear to the post-match press conference, he wished he could just go back to the hotel rather than facing the same questions in layers of different voices for the next several hours. He knew this was necessary, but that didn’t make him any more eager to participate.

His teammates were tidying themselves up, as well. They were a collection of dark suits and freshly washed hair, shiny shoes and pearly cufflinks. Kuroo was helping Bokuto with his tie, which had become a mangled mess. Everyone was accounted for, with one obvious exception.

Ushijima threaded his way through the bustle and toward the back of the locker room, where the showers lined the far wall. It was quieter back there. Silent, except for the spray of one delayed shower.

Ushijima stared at the opaque curtain, and though he couldn’t see who was beyond, he knew. “Oikawa?”

There was no answer, no indication that this was anything more than an empty shower.

Ushijima gripped the edge of the curtain and pulled it back, just barely. The metal rings jangled, and Ushijima waited for Oikawa to protest. When he didn’t, Ushijima peeled the curtain back further.

Oikawa was there, as expected. He was sitting on the tile floor, still dressed in his uniform. His arms were draped across bent knees, head down, drenched hair dripping into his face. The bow of his back was that of a man defeated.

Ushijima leaned inside to cut off the water. His sleeve was damp when he withdrew, but he hardly noticed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” said Oikawa. Without the stream of the shower, the drip of his hair against the tile was loud. “I’m great, Ushiwaka. Perfect.”

“You do not seem that way.”

Oikawa raised his head. He wiped at his face with the heels of his hands, almost as if he was wiping away tears rather than shower water. “I’m fine. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yes,” agreed Ushijima. “As do you.”

Oikawa huffed under his breath. “Right. I guess I do.”

“The others will be on their way soon,” said Ushijima. “I will wait for you.”

Oikawa waved him off. “Go on ahead. They need someone to keep them from making idiots of themselves.”

“Yes, and that person is you. Come on.”

Oikawa’s sigh was weary, as if he’d been sitting there for days rather than half an hour. He leaned against the wall and let his head fall back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “I need another few minutes. Really, go on. I’ll catch up.”

“I do not mind-”

“Ushijima, please.” Oikawa tilted his head. His stare was sharp, yet hollow. “I need some time.”

His tone was low, melancholy. It cut Ushijima straight to the bone. 

“Alright,” said Ushijima. He took a step back, surrendering. “I will see you there.”

Oikawa’s head drooped again, wet hair plastered to his face. He laced his hands together and rested them at the base of his skull, as if trying to shrink.

Ushijima didn’t want to leave him like that, but he didn’t know what else to do. He rejoined his teammates and resigned himself to a long night of prying eyes and prying questions. 

Sometimes, when Oikawa was nearby, interviews weren’t so bad. Whether intentionally or not, Oikawa often answered the questions meant for both himself and Ushijima. Maybe he liked the attention, or maybe he was sparing Ushijima some of the hassle. Either way, things always seemed to be easier with Oikawa around.

That night wasn’t easier, because Oikawa never arrived. 

  
  
  
  
  


The press conference was long, and more exhausting than any match Ushijima had ever played. Just when he thought it was over, another series of questions got passed around. Some of his teammates seemed to be enjoying themselves, but Ushijima only wanted to leave.

He also wanted to know where Oikawa had gone, but none of his inquiring texts were returned.

None of the reporters asked about Oikawa’s absence. They must have felt that it was too invasive to ask where he was, even if they felt comfortable prying into Ushijima’s personal life and relationship status. That was one of several questions that he politely yet firmly declined to answer. 

He hailed a taxi back to the hotel, rather than waiting for his teammates to wrap up their conversations and file back onto the bus. Ushijima had been overloaded with social interaction, and he preferred not to speak to anyone else for the rest of the night, even his teammates.

With one exception, of course. There was always one exception.

He tried to call three times from the backseat of the taxi, with no answer. He tried again as he walked into the hotel, and once more on the elevator. When he reached his floor, he restarted his phone, just in case, and tried again.

Nothing.

Ushijima considered calling one of his other teammates and asking them to contact Oikawa. Maybe he was ignoring Ushijima specifically. It wouldn’t be the first time, although it hadn’t happened in a long while. Ushijima had thought they’d moved past that. He thought they’d shifted into something resembling friendship.

Maybe he’d been wrong. 

He shrugged off his coat and hung it in the wardrobe, and his tie followed shortly after. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned when his phone gave a single, somber chime.

_Room 782._

Ushijima frowned at the message. He wasn’t sure it was even meant for him. Maybe Oikawa had sent him the text by mistake and wished to continue ignoring him. 

Or maybe it was an instruction.

Ushijima pondered, wavered, and finally made a decision. Forgoing his shoes, he traveled down the hallway in socked feet, his steps quiet as he neared the end. Room 782 was the last one on the left, beside a yawning window that overlooked the city. They’d been fortunate enough to have their championship game in their own country, and the Tokyo lights were a comfort. 

It was more of a comfort when Ushijima tapped at the door and a voice from within said, “It’s open.”

Ushijima hesitated on the threshold, because he still wasn’t certain the message had been intended for him. Oikawa, lounging against a pile of pillows in the middle of his hotel bed, didn’t even look at him. He was fixated on the tv, on which highlights of their match were being replayed.

“Don’t just stand there,” said Oikawa, not looking away from the screen. “Come in or leave, your choice.”

Ushijima closed the door behind him.

The curtains had been pushed back from the windows, offering the same sweeping view of the city. The lights were off, but the glow of the television lit Oikawa’s face in flashes of color. He was dressed in an old Aoba Johsai t-shirt that had seen better days. The wardrobe in the corner was ajar, and within was the suit he’d brought for the press conference, still perfectly pressed and unworn. 

“You did not catch up,” said Ushijima.

Oikawa dragged his eyes away from the tv and took in Ushijima’s half-suited appearance. “What?”

“You said you would catch up.” Ushijima wanted to step closer, but also didn’t want to intrude. “You did not.”

Oikawa sighed and sank back into the pillows. “I know.”

“Why did you-”

“You played a good game,” said Oikawa. He spoke quietly, but sharply enough to cut off Ushijima’s question. “Not that it’s a surprise. You always play well.”

Ushijima hesitated. He wanted to speak to Oikawa about the press conference, wanted to know why he’d been absent. But he didn’t want to push, and he couldn’t deny that that compliment meant a lot to him. He’d heard it from many people, but things always meant more coming from Oikawa. “Thank you.”

There was another skip of silence, growing tension from a source Ushijima couldn’t place.

“You played well, also,” said Ushijima. “But that is not a surprise, either. You are the most skilled setter I have ever worked with.”

“I’m flattered, Ushiwaka,” said Oikawa, his voice pitching higher. “What a compliment, coming from the world’s best ace.” It should have been teasing, sarcastic even, but the slight smile that touched his mouth was genuine. “Did everyone have nice things to say about me at the press conference?”

“Of course,” said Ushijima. “I have never heard anyone speak badly of you.”

“That’s because they don’t know me that well,” said Oikawa. Before Ushijima could respond, he added, “You can sit down, you know. I didn’t invite you in to stand awkwardly at the door.”

He had been invited, then. Ushijima wondered why Oikawa had ignored his calls, if he wasn’t averse to speaking with him. Ushijima crept further into the room. It was small, an exact replica of his own. The furniture was minimal, and Ushijima settled for sitting on the small sofa by the bed. 

“They aired some of the interviews from after the match,” said Oikawa, still staring straight ahead. “You need to work on your social skills, Ushiwaka.”

“I am aware.”

Oikawa picked absently at the bedsheets that were pulled up to his waist. “When they asked you about becoming captain next year, you didn’t answer.”

That wasn’t a question, not exactly, so Ushijima only waited.

Oikawa’s jaw twitched, as if he was chewing at the inside of his cheek. “You are planning to be captain, aren’t you? I know coach talked to you about it.”

“He did,” agreed Ushijima. “I was advised that he discussed it with you, as well.”

“He said he didn’t want to choose between us,” said Oikawa. “He wanted us to make the choice ourselves, so there was no lasting contention.”

Ushijima nodded. “That was wise.”

There was more silence. Ushijima watched himself slam a spike across the net. The camera had focused on him, but it should have been further back on the court, where Oikawa had set a perfect ball from a precarious receive. No other setter could’ve done it. 

“When we attend the team meeting on Monday,” said Ushijima, “I will accept the position of vice-captain.”

Oikawa’s face swiveled toward him. Ushijima felt the intensity of his stare. “Why?”

“I am a good leader,” said Ushijima, “but that isn’t all that our team needs.”

“I thought you wanted to be captain. That’s what you said, when we started playing for the national team. You said in three years you wanted to be captain.”

Ushijima had said that, almost in those exact words. He remembered that conversation, because he remembered the look on Oikawa’s face. It had reminded him of the Oikawa he’d played against in high school, the Oikawa who held grudges and made cutting comments. He’d changed since then, so much that Ushijima was often surprised by the differences, but at that moment he’d been the snide, clever captain of Aoba Johsai once more.

“Three years ago,” said Ushijima slowly, “I felt that becoming captain would be best for our team.” He studied Oikawa, who still watched him with cautious curiosity. This Oikawa wasn’t the same one he’d known as a teenager, or even the same one who’d signed with the national team three years ago. This one was patient, mature. This one was willing to take a backseat in the best interest of his team, just as Ushijima was. This one was his friend. 

“And…?” prompted Oikawa, when the quiet dragged on too long.

“And I have learned differently,” said Ushijima. “Our team needs something more than a leader. They need someone who can bring them together, someone who can bring out the best in them. That is you. It has always been you.”

Oikawa stared at him, hair falling into his eyes, lips parted. A crease appeared between his brows, the same crease that always appeared when he was calculating the angle of a difficult set. “So just because it’s what’s best for the team.”

“Yes,” said Ushijima. It was an easy answer, the obvious one. 

Oikawa frowned, just slightly. He settled back against his pillows and looked at the tv again. It had cut to a post-match interview, and a sweaty, exhausted Oikawa was smiling into the camera with more charm than any single person should possess.

Oikawa becoming captain was best for the team, but maybe that wasn’t the only reason Ushijima had made this decision. 

“Also,” said Ushijima, quietly, “you have worked harder than anyone else to get here. You deserve to be captain more than any of us. More than myself. You have earned it.”

Oikawa’s expression was pure surprise. He blinked, started to speak, and stopped himself. He glanced at the screen again, where the past version of himself was nodding along with a reporter’s remarks. Oikawa kicked away the sheets, freeing his legs, and shuffled to the edge of the bed, closer to Ushijima. He sat with his legs crossed, shameless despite being dressed in his underwear. It wasn’t as if they’d hadn’t seen one another in less, over the course of their careers.

“You really mean that,” said Oikawa. 

It wasn’t a question, but Ushijima answered anyway. “Of course. We all push ourselves to our limits, but you have always gone beyond.” He glanced down at Oikawa’s knee, which was only mildly swollen from the long match. He’d seen Oikawa limp off the court more than once, had seen him slip out of practice early to go to his physical therapy appointments. He’d always been unfailingly dedicated to the team, no matter his injuries or his personal issues. 

“I needed you in the match tonight.” Oikawa blurted it, as if he would lose the courage to speak if he waited another second. “I would have been lost, if you hadn’t been there. Every time the receive was in a tough spot, or things got confusing, or I was just overwhelmed, I knew you would waiting for the set.” He laughed under his breath, and there was a touch of bitterness there. “When we both got recruited to the national team, I promised myself I wouldn’t do that. I knew I would have to set for you, but I swore I wouldn’t rely on you. I couldn’t stand the thought of it, then.” He shook his head and stared out the window beyond Ushijima, at the city lights. His eyes were distant but soft, his posture relaxed.

“You changed your mind,” said Ushijima.

“I guess I did.”

“Why?”

Oikawa shrugged. “You’re not that bad, Ushiwaka.”

“I play to the best of my abilities.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Oikawa pushed a hand through his hair. It was the same nervous gesture from their pre-match conversation. “Just… in general. As a person, you’re not that bad.”

Oikawa hadn’t been rude to him in a long time, but neither had he said anything like that.

“Do you consider me a friend?” asked Ushijima.

Oikawa rolled his eyes, but it was softened by his smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we’re friends.”

Ushijima nodded. “Good. I am glad.”

Behind him, the colors lighting up the room shifted. The match coverage ended, replaced with the opening scene of the late-night news. Ushijima hadn’t realized how late it was.

“I will give you some privacy, so you can rest,” said Ushijima. He rose from the small sofa and nodded at Oikawa. “I will see you in the morning.”

He barely made it three steps before Oikawa said, “Ushijima, wait.”

Ushijima turned back to find that Oikawa had climbed to his feet. Oikawa pushed a hand through his hair again, looking up at Ushijima with that crease between his brows. It was deeper than usual, reflecting the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I don’t want privacy,” said Oikawa. His stare slid off to the side and then back again. 

He didn’t seem to be finished speaking, so Ushijima waited.

Oikawa took a small step closer, and then one more. Even in the low light of the room, he was near enough that Ushijima could see every detail of his face. It was nothing new to him. Ushijima had spent much of his time studying Oikawa’s face.

“Thank you,” said Oikawa, his voice low, “for being there for me during the match. It means a lot.”

“There is no need to thank me,” said Ushijima. He dropped his voice to match Oikawa’s tone. “I will always be there if you need me.”

“In a match, you mean?” said Oikawa, the words careful.

“Anytime you need me,” Ushijima clarified. “For volleyball, or anything else.”

At some not-so-distant time in the past, Ushijima would have expected Oikawa to laugh at him for making that sort of declaration. But things were different now, and just as Oikawa had learned to trust him, Ushijima had learned to trust Oikawa.

Oikawa started to reach out, stopped himself. “What about now?”

“What do you mean?”

Oikawa chewed at his lip, his brow creasing more deeply. “What if I need you now?”

“As I said. Anytime.”

Oikawa rolled his weight onto his toes and then back again. This time when he reached out, he didn’t pull back. His fingers landed on Ushijima’s shoulder, lingering, before grazing his jaw. “You wouldn’t laugh at me if I did something stupid, would you, Ushiwaka?”

There was a low lurch deep in Ushijima’s gut. He tried not to think about it. “Of course not.”

Oikawa nodded, more to himself than Ushijima. “I’m about to do something stupid, then. Stop me, if you want.” He took another step closer, and Ushijima’s field of vision was only Oikawa.

The light touch on Ushijima’s jaw grew firmer as Oikawa’s hand settled. The other one rose to match it, cupping the other side of Ushijima’s face. Oikawa’s palms were warm. So was his breath, as it fanned across Ushijima’s lips.

“Anytime,” said Oikawa, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper. “Stop me anytime.”

Ushijima didn’t move.

Oikawa’s mouth was gentle at first, barely there. Ushijima almost thought he was imagining it.

Then Oikawa kissed him properly, with firm lips and a sigh that tasted of relief. 

Ushijima wasn’t imagining it. He knew for certain, because he’d imagined it in the past, and it had never been quite like this.

Oikawa’s hands fell away from Ushijima’s face as he shuffled back a step. He was breathing too fast, his eyes were too wide, and he looked terrified. Oikawa forced a laugh under his breath, but there was no humor there. “Stupid, right?”

This time it was Ushijima who moved closer, his fingers threading through the back of Oikawa’s hair. “No,” he said. “Not at all.” He kissed Oikawa, and long arms looped around his neck, pulling him in. 

Ushijima had thought of kissing Oikawa, more than a few times. He’d always kept those thoughts to himself, buried deep where no one else would find them. 

Now it was all he could think about, all he wanted to think about.

When Oikawa broke away, his face flushed and his mouth shiny with saliva, Ushijima thought he’d never been more attractive. 

Oikawa toyed with a button on Ushijima’s shirt, plucking at it with long fingers as he gazed up at Ushijima’s face. “If you want to go,” said Oikawa, a touch breathless, “then you can go. I’d like you to stay, though.”

Ushijima didn’t have to think. “Then I’ll stay.”

The button beneath Oikawa’s fingers popped open, and he traveled down to the next one. “There will be no hard feelings if you walk away. Things will go back to normal. You don’t have to do this just because I want you to.”

Ushijima nudged Oikawa’s hand away and pulled open the next button himself. “It’s not because you want me to. It’s because I’ve wanted to since the day I met you.”

Oikawa blinked up at him, his pupils swollen, hair falling in a neat wave across his forehead. “You’re serious?”

“I’m always serious.”

Oikawa laughed, quietly. He sat on the edge of the bed and crawled backwards, stopping directly in the middle. He stripped his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, watching Ushijima with clear expectation.

Ushijima worked his way through the rest of the buttons, pulled the shirt from the neat tuck of his slacks, and let it fall away from his shoulders. The air was cool on his bare skin, but he couldn’t think about the temperature with Oikawa watching him like that. He popped open the button of his pants, just to test Oikawa’s reaction, and felt a flicker of heat as Oikawa’s eyes dipped low.

There was the scuff of a zipper, and Ushijima’s slacks crumpled to the floor. He braced a knee against the edge of the bed, planted his hands against the mattress, and stopped. “Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s eyes hadn’t left him. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure?”

Oikawa swallowed. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“If you’ve changed your mind-”

“I haven’t,” said Oikawa. He said it with confidence that made Ushijima even warmer. “I won’t. Come here.”

Ushijima did. 

He crawled over Oikawa, hot skin on hot skin, and kissed him with passion, with reverence. Oikawa’s hand perched on Ushijima’s shoulder and trailed down his back, dipping along his waist, fingers edging into the band of his underwear. Ushijima didn’t wait for further instructions. He shifted his weight to one elbow and used the other hand to strip himself, unashamed, undaunted. 

Oikawa pushed him to one side, and Ushijima rolled onto his back with a huff. Oikawa climbed overtop him, one knee braced on either side of Ushijima’s hips. He sat up high, head tilted down to take in the sight of Ushijima beneath him. Slowly, he tugged at his own underwear, dragging them down to reveal the cut of a hipbone, the dark shadow of trimmed hair, and then more. When they were cast to the side, and Oikawa perched over him completely nude, Ushijima found that breathing was suddenly more difficult.

“If you want to back out,” said Oikawa, his mouth twisting into a slight grin, “now’s your chance.”

Ushijima gripped Oikawa’s hips, felt the strength of him. “I would rather be nowhere else.”

Oikawa started to say something, but Ushijima lifted his knees and caught Oikawa off-balance. He toppled forward, catching himself with his hands, and Ushijima rolled them again, pinning Oikawa beneath him. 

“Except perhaps right here,” said Ushijima. He ducked his head to kiss Oikawa’s neck, his mouth lingering. He kept one hand on Oikawa’s waist, absorbing the heat of him. He rolled his hips downward to find Oikawa’s, and both of them sucked in a breath.

“Ushiwaka,” said Oikawa, his head falling back as Ushijima continued mouthing at his neck. “You shouldn’t be good at this. I expected you to be awkward.”

“I apologize for the disappointment,” said Ushijima. He grazed his teeth along a pale throat, and Oikawa shivered beneath him.

“It’s the best disappointment I’ve ever had,” said Oikawa. “Hang on, wait…” 

Ushijima pushed himself up on his elbows, giving Oikawa room to breath. Oikawa flailed an arm overhead and dug into the mound of pillows, finding a packet of lube and pushing it into Ushijima’s hand.

Ushijima blinked down at it, and Oikawa said, “I was prepared. Just in case you decided to stay.”

Another swell of heat crashed over him, and Ushijima kissed Oikawa with fervor. Their mouths were hot, and when Ushijima dipped his tongue past Oikawa’s lips, Oikawa nipped at him, gently. 

The lube packet tore open easily, just as easily as Ushijima’s fingers slipped inside of Oikawa. 

Oikawa arched against him, his voice peaking into something that was half-whine and half-groan, but wholly muffled by Ushijima’s mouth. He clutched at Ushijima’s shoulders, nails digging in as Ushijima pressed deeper. It stung, but Ushijima didn’t mind. He was so pleased to be here with Oikawa that he would have endured anything without complaint. 

It didn’t take much time for Oikawa to grow impatient. He bit Ushijima’s lip, not quite hard enough to hurt, and said, “That’s enough, Ushiwaka.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do I look sure?”

Oikawa stared up at him, eyes dark and hazy, hair a mess, lips parted around panting breaths.

“Yes,” said Ushijima. He removed his fingers slowly, and Oikawa winced at their absence. “You do.”

Oikawa reached between them and curled his fingers around Ushijima, stroking once and dragging a low, rumbling groan out of Ushijima’s throat. Oikawa hitched a leg over Ushijima’s waist, his heel nestling into the dip of Ushijima’s lower back. The muscles of his thigh flexed as he dragged Ushijima closer, until he was lined up against Oikawa. 

Ushijima hesitated, and Oikawa noticed.

“If you don’t do it,” said Oikawa, curling an arm around Ushijima’s neck, “then I’ll do it myself.” 

Oikawa was gorgeous like that, perfectly comfortable despite this new situation. His face was flushed, his neck was pink where Ushijima’s teeth had touched it, and the strong lines of his body were pale against the steely sheets. His eyes were darker than usual, a little hazy, and they squeezed shut as Ushijima pushed into him. 

Oikawa’s other leg wrapped around Ushijima’s waist too, trapping him in an iron clamp of muscle. He coaxed Ushijima closer, until he sank in far enough to leave both of them gasping.

When Oikawa’s eyes opened, there was such heat dancing in the dark shine of them that Ushijima felt himself twitch. 

Oikawa rocked up against him, and it was all the encouragement Ushijima needed. 

Ushijima rolled his hips back and then thrust forward again, and Oikawa’s heat squeezed around him. A moan rolled from Oikawa’s lips, and Ushijima ducked his head to taste the tenor of it. Oikawa’s tongue twisted around Ushijima’s, and Ushijima thrust into him again, savoring the moan that echoed into his own mouth.

Even when Ushijima had thought about being with Oikawa, he had never let himself get quite this far. He thought it was disrespectful, to think about his teammate in such a way. 

If he had allowed himself to think of it, he wouldn’t have been capable of imagining just how good it would be. 

Oikawa was strong and hot and perfect, and the low drag of his voice, rising and falling with every thrust, made Ushijima shudder. Ushijima pressed his forehead against Oikawa’s shoulder and focused on breathing, on rhythm, on not unraveling. 

There was a solid push against his shoulder, and Ushijima found himself flipped onto his back again, with Oikawa astride him. There was a dangerous flash in his dark eyes, but he said nothing as he mounted Ushijima and slammed himself back with enough force to knock the breath out of them both. Oikawa rode him with a boldness he usually reserved for the court, sweat shining across the solid line of his shoulders, muscles flexing as he moved. 

Ushijima reached between them, unsteady, and found a solid grip around Oikawa, who faltered as he stroked. 

“Oikawa.” Ushijima stroked him again, watched the way Oikawa’s lip quivered as he sucked in a breath. “Come here.”

Oikawa half-collapsed over Ushijima, their mouths melting together. Ushijima bucked his hips upward into Oikawa, twisting his wrist as he stroked. Oikawa rocked back against him, breath coming shorter until it was nothing more than shallow panting. His body was taut like a wire, ready to snap.

Ushijima licked past Oikawa’s lips, cherishing the taste of him. He thrust his hips up hard and said, “You are beautiful like this, Oikawa.”

Oikawa buried his face against Ushijima’s neck, muffling a lilting moan against sweat-slick skin. He pulsed in Ushijima’s hand as he came, spilling hot across his fingers. His body squeezed Ushijima in a tight, scorching grip, and the feeling of it stole Ushijima’s self-control. 

Ushijima threw his head back and drove himself deeper into Oikawa, gasping as the pleasure swept over him like a storm. He clutched Oikawa as he rode it out, and blindly kissed him when Oikawa’s mouth pressed against his own.

Ushijima’s skin tingled as he sank back, his heart pattering in his chest, satisfaction swirling in his blood like liquid heat. Oikawa sprawled to the side, in a similar state. His eyes were half-lidded, his body limp.

Ushijima took long, slow breaths, trying to regulate his heartbeat. It helped when he closed his eyes, because it was difficult to concentrate while looking at Oikawa.

A warm hand bumped against his arm, and long fingers laced through his own. Ushijima peeked to the side, where Oikawa studied him with sleepy eyes. 

“Well,” said Oikawa. He was aiming for casual, but an edge of uncertainty crept into his tone. “I don’t think that was one of my worst ideas?”

Ushijima smiled. It wasn’t something he did often, but with Oikawa stretched out beside him like that, it was impossible not to. “No, it certainly was not.”

Oikawa sighed and relaxed into the sheets. “You’re hard to read, you know? I wasn’t sure if you’d be into it or if you would hit me just for thinking about it.”

“I would never hit you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I suppose I do.” 

Oikawa huffed a breath and rolled onto his side, propping his head in his palm and gazing down at Ushijima. His other hand was still snug in Ushijima’s. “Do you want to stay for the night? I know your room is right down the hall, and it’s kind of dumb for you to stay here when you could have a whole bed to yourself, but-”

“Yes,” said Ushijima, cutting the rambling short. “I would very much like to stay.”

It was a short time later when the two of them settled into bed, after a quick cleanup in the bathroom and some half-hearted complaining by Oikawa about the mess. 

Ushijima knew this bed was identical to his own a few rooms down, but it was infinitely more comfortable. That was probably a direct result of Oikawa lying beside him, close enough that his heat soaked into Ushijima’s side.

Ushijima was exhausted, from the match and the press conference and the unexpected jaunt with Oikawa. He was exhausted, but more satisfied than he’d ever been.

“If you snore, I’ll kick you out,” said Oikawa, hooking a foot around Ushijima’s ankle. There was a hint of a smile in his voice that kept Ushijima from taking the threat seriously.

“I will sleep quietly.”

Oikawa made a satisfied sound and curled closer, his leg twining through Ushijima’s. The low hum of the air conditioner was soothing, as was the soft sound of Oikawa’s breathing. 

Ushijima settled in, and he was beginning to drift toward sleep when Oikawa spoke.

“I skipped the press conference because I’m selfish.”

Ushijima blinked, immediately awake. He rolled toward Oikawa, trying to make out his features in the dark. “What do you mean?”

Oikawa sighed. He didn’t immediately speak, but Ushijima didn’t rush him.

“It’s nice that we have fans who support our team,” said Oikawa. He fidgeted, and his hand brushed against Ushijima’s. “It’s nice to have them, and we need them, but… We worked so hard for this. We fought for it. We were the ones out there on the court, sweating and struggling, and I just…”

Ushijima placed his hand over Oikawa’s. Oikawa slipped their fingers together and squeezed. 

“We won,” said Oikawa. “We did. You, and me, and our teammates. It was our victory, not theirs. I wanted it to be mine, just for a little while, instead of having to share it with the entire country. I never thought I’d get here. Back in high school, when we lost nationals, I thought… I thought I’d never be anyone that mattered. But now that I am, now that we won a championship, I just…” His sigh was harsh, frustrated. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I just wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about it. I had to come to terms with it first, because I almost think I hallucinated the entire thing. Maybe we lost, and I’m just delusional.”

Ushijima leaned into Oikawa. “You are not selfish, Oikawa. You are many things, but not selfish.”

Oikawa squeezed Ushijima’s hand again.

“You are not delusional, either,” said Ushijima. “We did win. We are champions, and if you must reflect on that for a while before you are prepared to accept it, then do what you must.” He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, tracing the layers of shadows that clung to the corners. “Next year, however, you will be required to attend the press conference after our victory. A captain must be there for his team.”

Oikawa’s laugh was warm and sweet in Ushijima’s ear. “Only if my vice-captain is there with me.”

“I already told you,” said Ushijima. Oikawa rolled closer, and Ushijima curled an arm around his waist. “I will be here anytime you need me.”

He’d said it, and he’d meant it. He would always be there for Oikawa, no matter what he needed, whether this night was the only time they would be this close or if it became a routine. 

Ushijima would always be there, and he only hoped Oikawa gave him the chance to prove it. 

  
  



End file.
